I'm Not Yet Dead!
by WeAreCrazyHyperSchitzoGirls
Summary: When Lancelot believes his beloved Herbert had passed on, this sparks a very... intimite discussion with one of his fellow knights on matters of love and hair. [!parody! don't trust the labels!] [warning: spamalot references]


I am not yet dead!!!

+A work of the collaborative efforts of Penny and Hillary+

**Disclaimer**: Sorry man we don't own this. We're simply humble writers enjoying the company of one another. And yeah Monty Python is the creator of basically all of this madness. Amen

**Note**: READ THIS STORY WITH A BRITISH ACCENT. READ IT ALOUD.

DON'T ASK WHY.

YOU'LL UNDERSTAND AS YOU GO ALONG.

* * *

In a very expensive looking forest, sitting on a very expensive stump beside a very cheap flower pot, holding a very expensive shrubbery, sat a very dejected looking Lancelot. In his hand he held a very tattered piece of parchment, and his face betrayed a piece of emotion that could only be described as: sad. (No, it was not pure misery, maudlin cheerlessness or melancholy gloom – HE WAS SAD.)

Lancelot: I'm so sad.

His sadness could only attract more distressing occasions, it would seem.

Lancelot: **::sad sigh::**

The dejected knight could hear the footsteps approaching, and knew that they could quite likely bring about his doom. But at this point in time, he did not seem to care. His life was forfeit.

Galahad had just been scouting out some new hair care products for his increasingly gorgeous hair when he stumbled upon one of his dearest friends, Lancelot looking very sad indeed. (Yes. Not distraught or depressed – HE WAS SAD.)

Galahad: **::Talking still like a bloody prat::** Hark old chap! What is it that is bothering you?

Lancelot: **::sad sigh::**

This response, or lacktherof, seemed to confuse our dear Galahad. This way that Lancelot looked – so terribly sad – seemed to spark a comradeship that would not always be so prevalent in their everyday dealings. But this was a special case.

Galahad: What is it that plagues you!?!

Lancelot: I don't think I can talk about it……..

At this point Galahad found a nice spot in the script to perform a musical interlude.

Galahad: _Some things in life are bad they can really make you mad, other things just make you swear and curse. When you're chewin' on life's gristle, don't grumble; give a whistle! And this will help things turn out for the best._

_Always look on the briiiight side of life **::Whistle::**_

The music is suddenly interrupted as if someone had hit the conductor of the orchestra in the head with a heavy shovel **::cough::**

Lancelot: Shut the fuck up.

Galahad: Oh come on – look on the bright side!

Lancelot: Quit being a dummy.

This was the moment that Galahad took to notice the lovely scruffy piece of paper in his dear friends grip.

Galahad: **::gasp:: **Is that a love note!!?

Lancelot: **::SAD sigh::** I wish. Life's a piece of shit.

Galahad: When you look at it. That's why I keep my eyes closed.

Lancelot: Shut your bloody face. **::Pulls out shovel from under the very expensive stump::**

Galahad: I thought you were a pacifist now. You and Herbert go to all of those activist things and Green Day concerts.

Lancelot then began to burst out into fits of hysterical tears. His sobs permeated the very expensive walls of the forest.

Galahad: Pull your self together bloke! Be a Man! **::awkward silence::**Well… Sort of.

This commentary by Galahad seemed to make the tears of Lancelot flow more freely and more forcefully. Frustrated, he reached out and grabbed the mangled paper from his companion.

Galahad: "To whomever reads this note," yada, yada, yada, "I'm in a French prison," blah, blah, blah, "I was run over by a horde of screaming cats," yeah, yeah, yeah…. "Aghhhhhhhhh"

Hearing the words of his latest piece of news, Lancelot burst into further gales of sadness. (YES, JUST SADNESS DAMMIT.)

Lancelot: He's gone away… for to stay – more than a little while. Oh who will tie my shoe…. Who will buy curtains with me? Who will go to gay bars with me and carry me home after a long evening of YMCAing and dancing until I drop…. **::dramatic sigh::**

Galahad: …. What?

Lancelot: **::partially ticked off::**Did you read who it was from?

Galahad: Oh, right Ahem. "Lots of love, Herbert." Well how come he wrote "Aghhhhhhhhh" ?

In desperation, Lancelot did his best to get his dimwitted friend to understand the situation. To do this, he used very subtle hints and witty, charming words.

Lancelot: 'CAUSE HE WAS DYING YOU BLEEDIN' TWAT!

Galahad: …oh… But why would he write it if he was dying? I just don't think that he would bother to write it out… "Aghhhhhhhhh"… It just seems… Well… No.

Lancelot: He must have died while writing it!

Galahad: Then… how did he send it?

Lancelot: it was obviously a ploy from the French! They are conspiring against me and plan to take me as well!

Galahad: Why you?

Lancelot: **::with a look of "Oh no you didn't"::** Have you _seen_ the king of France?

Galahad: Ooooh. Yeah , yeah. **::after some more contemplation::** Yeah.

Lancelot: Told you so.

The very expensive forest was just a teensy bit brighter from the very expensive sunlight for a (very expensive to shoot) moment as the two came to a point of understanding. (FINALLY!!!)

Galahad: So it _is_ true then… Herbert is… dead.

Lancelot: Took you long enough**::cries::** YES, He is dead. The only one I have ever loved… besides Leo DiCapprio…

Galahad: You know… I've been in love too. And, as a matter of fact, it was thee who snubbed those loves.

With a total look of shock, indignation, and complete worry, Lancelot looked up at his friend. Could he really have taken from this man the love which he craved so much? Was he really that much of a monster?

Galahad: Yes, it is true. You see, I have yet to be able to retrace my steps to the Castle Anthrax, where therein lies my destiny – a future full of Dingo, Zoot… I believe one of them had a name like Piglet… All this and Oral Sex you stole from me in one action of complete selfishness…

Lancelot: Darling, that wasn't love. **_::Aside::_** We the British have a lovely term for situations like that. We call it prostitution. Or whoring.

Galahad: What? I thought they really liked me!

Lancelot: **_::Aside::_** Prostitutes in this country are quite good at their jobs.

Galahad: Okay, so that doesn't count. But I know I've been in love at _least_ twelve times or so…

Lancelot: I'll bet you've never been in love!

Galahad: **::flustered, unable to counter that::** Oh, quit acting like a girl. Who talks about love nowadays? This is the MIDDLE AGES, mate, get with the times!

This conversation seemed to have helped Lancelot, if only just a little bit, to get through his troubles. Herbert, for the moment, had been pushed behind his current situation; teasing Galahad.

Lancelot: Well, if you say so. **::snicker** … **:sad sigh::**

Galahad: **_::Aside::_** Oh shit I don't think he's quite over this yet. Oh Well. I guess it's all up to me then…

He turns to Lancelot and put a comforting hand on his shoulder before once again breaking out into song.

Galahad: _Once in every show there comes a time like this, in which a person cries over someone that they miss, this is the time that is like this._

**::He takes Lancelot's hands and pulls him up so they are standing in front of each other::**

Lancelot_: A sentimental time, when people don't feel well, I want to Kill some one, but my shovel doesn't help, Oh this is the time that is like this._

Both: **::in a very orgasmic manner:: **_Yes it is! Yes it is!_

Galahad_: And now you can go straight._

Lancelot: _Or - how 'bout you go gay?_

Galahad: _No really I like girls._

Lancelot: _Damn - nothing rhymes with girls._

Both_: Oh this is the time that is like this_.

Lancelot: I've never felt closer too you!

Galahad: Well, that's because we are holding hands in a romantic manner while singing.

Lancelot: Oh. Right.

The two stood together; eyes locked, hands intertwined as they faced each other with looks of confusion, passion, and, um, pain? Well, maybe not, but they were definitely staring at each other with intensity in their gazes, and it was at this moment, that they both took in a great large breath, dramatically facing away from each other, finishing their serenade.

Both: _OH THIS IS THE TIME THAT IS LIKE THI-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-ISSSSSSS!_

Lancelot was the first to come out of the reverie, suddenly seeing the situation he and Galahad were in. He tore himself away from his friend, feeling angry. (No, not sad, ANGRY.)

Lancelot: You bastard. How could you do this to me? You're trying to make me forget about Herbert. **::Sob::**

(Okay, so now he's sad again.)

Once again, he sat back down on his very expensive prop, the stump. His male – his grail – had disappeared, and now his best friend was trying to make him forget about it. And, strangely, he was somewhat okay with this situation. That bothered him even more. Once again, he found himself spiraling down into the depths of sadness. Yes. Sad. God Damn anyone who says otherwise.

Galahad: Bloody hell, man, get over yourself! I did what any normal friend would do and tried to help!

Lancelot: Well maybe you should just leave. I didn't want you here in the first place. GO look for your bloody Hair Care Products.

The two men, as most men filled with enough testosterone to feed a sperm whale would do, quickly came to arms; huffing and glaring at the other man with whom they had just been sharing a "moment."

Galahad: Don't even _talk_ about my hair! At least I have hair.

Lancelot: On your head.

Galahad: I bet I have loads more hair then you.

Lancelot: Oh bring it on bastard!

Galahad: **::gasp::** Don't you _dare_ insult my mother in that burlesque fashion!

If one watching the scene were wearing an infrared mask, they would clearly see the pair of knights' body heat increase, and steam rising off of their backs. Their hair was nearly prickling.

After many long moments of a death glare contest the two began to sweat in … anger?

Well, at least that was what they were telling themselves. For a moment or two. It was Galahad who broke the sweltering, seething gaze; moving forward in one swift, fluid motion, grabbing a very surprised Lancelot from behind his neck into a deep and steamy kiss.

For just a moment they both succumbed to all of the emotions that came along with the kiss; the flavours that mixed with the sweet passion and total hunger of it.

That was… until a tap came upon Galahad's shoulder.

Not even really seeing who it was that separated their moment, Galahad stumbled backward, allowing the intervening stranger a moment in front of Lancelot.

Lancelot's eyes opened, wide, at the sight of the dress wearing male in front of him.

**Herbert: I'm not dead yet!  
**

**Fin**

* * *

Penny: That was fun.

Hillary: Si, mucho divertido. Teehee.

Penny: Oh, s'il te plait, parle pas en espanllol, pour moi ?

Hillary :..huh Penny i don't understand you when you speak in odd tongues.-

Penny: It comes with being a coin.

Hillary: I think _I_ should cut to the chase and say it plain and simple…please review. :)


End file.
